


Bad Romance

by merkuria



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merkuria/pseuds/merkuria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Academy era fic - Bones wants Jim even if it's destroying him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Romance

Sometimes, when he’d had enough to drink, Bones convinced himself that he couldn’t remember how it all started. And on the nights he got his hands on some Andorian ale he could almost believe that it wasn’t happening at all.

Those nights of chemical oblivion were his favourite and well worth the damned price. But, come morning, the memories were back, sharp and clear, made more vivid by the incessant throbbing in his head – an unpleasant cost, but one that he found himself paying willingly, again and again.

*

The first time, it went something like this.

Jim came through the door wearing that smile again, the one that spoke of alcohol and sex, his body somehow catching the light from the small lamp on the desk. And Bones hated him. He hated him on every single one of those nights that Jim got back looking _happy_, his body moving with a lazy contentment, relaxed and sated. He hated Jim and he hated all those nameless fucks that weren’t him.

“I see you’ve been out whoring, again. You stink.”

Usually Jim laughed and countered with, “Ah, Bones, jealous? You know it’s you I love best,” then went to take a shower, returning in clean clothes and with damp skin smelling faintly of soap. However, on that night Jim didn’t do any of those things. Instead he walked over to where Bones sat, stopping right next to the desk and letting his smile grow wider.

“So what if I have, Bones? What if I have been out all this time, fucking and getting fucked in return?” Each word coming louder than the one before, as Jim bent down lower and lower still, until his face was mere inches away from Bones’. Too close, he was far too close now, the scent of sex and men sharp and unwelcome.

“You’re drunk,” was all the reaction Bones managed, frozen in place because he couldn’t lean back, couldn’t move away, certain of what was to come and no longer able to resist the pull.

“Yes,” Jim admitted, “That I am.” And kissed Bones.

The angle was awkward but it didn’t matter – Bones surged into the kiss with the eagerness born of long months of wanting. He was a man starving and there was no stopping as his hands reached for Jim’s skin, greedy and careless, fingers digging into flesh and gripping hard. And the bastard laughed, a bright, joyous sound that made Bones want to hit him.

Stumbling and tripping, they moved to the bed, Bones falling on top of Jim and pushing him into the mattress. It wasn’t anything like Bones had imagined, Jim pliant and easy under him, yielding and giving Bones access, gasping, _yeah, yeah_, as Bones finally got a hand inside his pants and squeezed. He started jerking Jim off, a movement almost beyond his control now that he had Jim in his hand, breathing hard underneath him with eyes shut and mouth open, obscene.

And then Jim started talking. Nothing coherent, but a steady stream of filthy encouragements that felt like they belonged in a cheap porn; crude and ridiculous. It made Bones harder and more desperate than he had thought possible, his mind dizzy with the things he wanted, the things Jim urged him to do, everything spinning. He tried to shut Jim up, biting his bottom lip until it bled and pinning him down. But it didn't work, nothing worked and in between kisses Jim whispered next to his ear, hot and tickling.

“Are you gonna fuck me now, Bones? C’mon, fuck me. Fuck me here, Bones. Fuck me…”

*

He didn’t. At least not that night.

In the morning, Bones woke up alone with a headache, a bad taste in his mouth, and a whole lot of things he most definitely didn't want to think about. Such as the memories of Jim coming in his hand, a broken litany of _Bones, Bones, Bones_ falling from his lips. Such as how he didn’t have much left that wasn’t Jim’s already.

He spent the day at the clinic going through the motions, forestalling the inevitable return to the dorm. When he finally got back, he found Jim sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking at the door. He watched Bones come in and drop his bag, then got up and walked toward him.

“I believe you owe me something.” Jim took one step closer, looking Bones straight in the eyes.

“Yeah, and what would that be?”

“A fuck. A nice, long, hard fuck.” And he licked his lips. The bastard licked his lips and Bones felt he couldn’t fight it any more than he could stop a tornado.

This time the kiss wasn’t unexpected – it was inevitable like war, like disease, like locust – Jim’s lips gentle as they crept up Bones’  jaw and back; a slow conquest and a sure victory as Bones opened up without hesitation.

And it was easy to be taken under, easy to feed greedily on Jim’s skin, licking down his chest and chasing the elusive scent of him. Bones followed an elaborate pattern, tracking the lines of muscles with his teeth and tongue, feeling the tissue and warm blood underneath. He pushed Jim’s back against the wall and kneeled, taking Jim in his mouth and unashamedly breathing him in. He held Jim by his thighs, held him up and sucked, without finesse or restraint, barely stopping himself from asking Jim for more. _Give me more, Jim_.

Not that Jim could, with his hands flat on the wall, panting and whispering hoarsely, “Like that Bones, baby, like that, like that, don’t stop,” and ending on a sharp note, not quite a scream, as he came in Bones’ mouth.

The rest of the night was a blur and all that Bones had left were fragments, little pieces that, when put together, had him reeling with desire. It was Jim’s fingers curling on his arm as he pressed in, the slick, wet sound of their bodies, little pants and gasps next to his neck, and the bites on his collarbone he got to keep for a while longer. It was Jim, broken, pleasure wracking him as he lay there open and defenceless, the deadliest of creatures.

It was Bones kissing and holding him tight, thinking that maybe, maybe he had it all wrong and it wouldn’t be his ruin.

*

It was a stupid thing to think, of course.

Next morning Bones walked out of the shower to find a naked Jim propped on the sink, clearly amused.

“Bones, were you _humming_? If I had known fucking you was all it took to get you in a better mood I would have done it long ago. Next time you feel like a little friendly fun, just ask, I’ll always have place for one more,” Jim laughed, winking, and something cold and heavy lodged itself in Bones’ stomach.

That night Jim came back stumbling and grinning wide, and Bones _knew_. There wasn’t anything to be said.

*

Bones knew about the drugs that you only need to taste once to become addicted; he just didn’t know it could be the same with people.

If he were at all melodramatic, he’d say it was some kind of madness, an insanity that lay dormant just beneath his skin, needing but a whisper to come alive. There were many words he learned during his psychology classes – obsession, dependency, delusion, and his favourite, denial. Knowing all those wasn’t helping him any, and if nouns had failed him, adjectives did little more than taunt him. _Desperate, pathetic, naïve_. A fool, he thought looking into the mirror, a bloody fool.

None of that made any difference, and he always went back to reaching for Jim’s pale skin, his fingers crawling inside, catching gasps to feed on later, collecting every stray _baby_ to wear like a cut on his arm, scars of war.

It would be easier, he thought, if Jim ever said no, but he came to him bright and smiling, _filthy_, letting Bones use him and revelling in pain and pleasure alike. It didn’t matter if he had Jim on his knees, manhandled and bruised, cut or bloody; it didn’t matter if he made Jim crawl or ask him for it. For all that he took it was never enough, the need for _more_ never gone, the hunger a constant presence now; the fear that there wouldn’t be a next time never went away.

*

The night Jim came back smelling of men, _men_, Bones felt something inside him break.  It wasn’t his heart, because this wasn’t love, Bones was sure – love wasn’t meant to destroy you like this – but it left him weak, his mouth tasting of ash.

He undressed Jim and laid him down on the bed, the light playing with his golden skin, and on any other night Bones would admire it, but there were more pressing matters. He needed to get Jim clean. Starting with his wrists, he licked up the inside of his right arm, eating up all foreign scents and traces of anyone except _Jim_. Once satisfied, he bit down, hard enough to bruise but not to break skin, not trusting himself with the scarlet of Jim’s blood. Then he moved up, to the clavicle, neck, and down Jim’s chest, licking and scraping with blunt nails.

Biting and scratching alone wasn’t enough, and as he travelled through Jim’s body Bones whispered into his skin, pleadings and enchantments, _darlin’, sweetheart, you’re here now, let me, this is mine, need to take this back darlin’, darlin’_...

He kept going until Jim’s skin was pink and heated, didn’t stop licking until his tongue felt raw, and fucked him until there was only his name on Jim’s lips, his scent on his skin, his come slowly dripping out.

*

He did quit Jim once.

Jim was sent away on a one-month command training, and after a week the hunger dimmed down to bearable. He still felt a little bit suffocated, there was simply not enough oxygen these days, the air sucked out of every room he was in and the slight burning in his lungs a permanent sensation. But it wasn’t anything like drowning – it was exhaustion.

Over the next weeks he came back to his room to find messages for Jim, left by _Brian_, _Mark_, or some other alien bastard with a name no human should ever be made to pronounce. Each was like a slap in the face, but things like that didn’t kill you, and Bones started to think that maybe his days wouldn’t feel so broken anymore, or that sometime soon he might sleep through an entire night.

These things were possible, he remembered.

*

Bones marked the day of Jim’s return in his personal calendar, and prepared thoroughly for the occasion. Jim came back to find him sitting at his desk, studiously drunk, an empty bottle of bourbon on the floor, and a new one waiting to be opened.

He edged closer, smiling. “Ease up on the booze there, Bones, this stuff will kill ya,” and Bones wanted to say, _It’s you that’s killing me, you Jim, you make me crawl for you and I’ve been on my knees for so long I can’t remember anything else; there is nothing left you haven’t taken, and you don’t even know it_.

But then Jim kissed him, murmuring, “Missed you, Bones. Really missed you. It just isn’t the same without you, they can’t do it like you. Come play with me Bones.”

He started licking along Bones’ lips, his face alive and his body too close again. And Bones could feel his breath, warm and already drugging him; a hit delivered straight to his vein.

Then he reached for Jim. One last time. Just this once.

 

 


End file.
